1255

      The bells tolled so loud in Queen’s Vigil that no one got a moment of reprieve, not even the nobles still gathered in the stone cathedral. The newly wed princess beamed a smile wide and bright for the gathered crowds, the Prince however, the handsome heir to the throne looked less than overjoyed. He hadn’t smiled once, his face stoic and hard throughout the ceremony.

      Banners fluttered in the wind and white rose petals rained down from above on the picturesque blonde couple, they seemed a thing from a fairy story he with his strong jaw, straight nose and warm green eyes and she a creature of milk and honey with her long golden hair, plump lips, wide blue eyes and skin whiter than a cask of cream.

      The symbol of the ruling royal house, a crowned white lion rampant in splendor clutching white roses in its claws, hung from every balcony and gutter in the capital of Isyland. The new princess’s silk train of ivory trailed down the steps behind them, and the cloak on her back, white and gold declared her new status as royalty.

      The Prince didn’t look down on his new Bride, though she wasn’t royalty. However, that didn’t mean he loved his new Princess. The crown however, needed her family’s gold and loyalty.

      For the good of the Realm.

      His father’s words stuck with him as they walked hand and hand down the steps to the awaiting white washed carriage wrapped in white silk. Truth was, he’d hated Estrid since they were children. The moment his father told him who his Bride would be he threatened to throw himself from the tower, that was six years ago. Now, at nineteen, things hadn’t changed much. The only thing that kept him from carrying out his threat was the fact that there wasn’t another heir to take his place. As though the King and Queen sensed his thoughts, they stopped visiting each other’s bed chambers.

      The stairs seemed never ending as he descended to the waiting carriage.

      “Are you happy?” Estrid whispered leaning toward the Prince.

      “No.”

      “You could at least pretend to be for the people.”

      “You’re right I could.” He purse his lips.

      “She was just a whore.” Estrid rolled her eyes.

      “No, she was a chamber maid.”

      “Who you turned into your whore.”

      “She was a friend.”

      “Was. Now she’s dead. You can’t have three people in a marriage, Rurik.”

      “One day I will be King, Estrid. Who a Ki—”

      “Yes, you’ll be King and I’ll be Queen and even then, I’ll send you the head of any other you think to place in our bed. I don’t care if you don’t like me. You never liked me, and I never liked you. Pity your parents never had another boy. I told you when I was five I’d be Queen. What did you tell me then? That I was a silly little girl who knew nothing. Now smile, and wave to the other nobles, Rurik. We want to sell the lie of the happy newlyweds, don’t we?” She smirked and Rurik grimaced but after a quick look over the crowd and a stern look from his father the handsome prince forced a smile as they finally reached the carriage.

      Once the door shut and it lurched forward Rurik fingered the cuff of the silver and gold embroidered doublet he wore.

      “After you’ve given me a son we’ll live separate lives. You can do as you please and I’ll do the same. As my parents did once my mother’s curse stopped.”

      Estrid snickered softly. “No.”

      “Why are you determined to make me suffer?”

      “To punish you of course.”

      “What did I ever do to you?”

      “You never did anything to me. But your house shamed my house.”

      Rurik sighed and threaded his fingers back through his sandy blonde locks.

      “So, you’re to punish me for something Alaric IV did almost eighty years ago?”

      “Why not? Plenty of Kings have trapped queens in loveless, hate filled unions. Were I not as wealthy as I am I’d be forced to a similar plight, but I am.” Her smile widened. “And my children will hate you too. Make no mistake though they’ll have your blood they’ll be all mine. The moment you die they’ll strike that splendid white lion from every inch of the kingdom and raise the white rose.”

      “Are you sure it’s wise to tell me all this now?”

      “Why wouldn’t it be? What are you going to do about it? Poison me? Have me smothered in my sleep? Kill me and the crown loses all of House Casimir’s gold, which means House Ezrik loses the throne.”  She smoothed her heavily embroidered ivory skirts. “And you’re far too loyal to your House and the legacy of that small group of warriors who came down from their island all those hundreds of years ago and laid waste to our lands to be the cause of that.” Her thin pale fingers trailed back through golden tresses. “We’ve won, and you’ve lost.”

      The cheering crowds gathered hoping to get a glance at the happy couple drew Rurik’s attention for a handful of moments. After a little while he allowed himself to smile.

      “Pray you’re with child after our wedding night, Estrid. Because you’re not sharing my bed again. If monks can be celibate, so can I. You’ve forgotten one important thing in all of this, I have sister who wed to the King of Karrikend. In no time, they’ll have an heir who I’ll name as mine.”

      Her mouth twisted and puckered as though she swallowed something sour.

      “Do you really think the nobles will tolerate a foreigner on the throne?”

      “I’ll be King. They’ll accept what I tell them to accept.”

      “With the exception of an annulment.”

      “Yes, unless you get caught with someone else in your bed.”

      “Unlike the wife of Dobromir II, though I am technically your subject, you need my family’s gold. And the last thing you want is for House Casimir to turn on you. There isn’t a rose without a thorn, Rurik. And large predators get caught in brambles and die all the time.” She smiled sweetly and leaned her head out the window waving to the crowds, effectively ending the conversation and leaving Prince Rurik to his dark thoughts of the future.

1276

      Chaos reigned on the battlefield. The clanging clash of sword against sword, and sword on chain armor plus the screams and shouts deafened. Still the svelte warrior clad in leather armor from head to toe, fought bravely and valiantly. Unlike so many others hacking away at their opponents, they weren’t fighting for King and country but rather for something so much purer—gold.

      However no matter how pure the motives there was no making sense of the battle field. Three armies met comprised of hundreds of banners, Stags, hounds, dragons, unicorns, lions, and various other animals and flowers of every hue imaginable billowed blood spattered in the breeze as beneath them men fought hard.

      Though the fighting style of the small warrior differed from their compatriots they managed to beat those who crossed them, slipping the slightly curved edge of their blade between the gaps in the soldiers’ armor. They parried, dodged, kicked and punched their way through those allied with the King of Islyland. They moved so quick in their light armor, the warrior was little more than a dark blur to their enemies.

      But as happens all too often in battle, the warrior eventually met their match in a man easily twice their size covered from head to toe in heavy plate armor covered in brown enamel with tuffs of chestnut bear fur peeking through those spaces where the warrior’s blade usually slipped in so easily. The massive man wore a helmet in the shape of a bear’s head which obscured their face so well it seemed as though the warrior crossed blades with a sentient one.

      All the warrior could do was dodge. They knew better than to catch a blow from that mammoth man with their sword.  However, eventually it happened. Pain, white hot and mind numbing radiated up the warrior’s arm. As they staggered the bear of a man seized them by their slender throat and tossed them into freezing rushing waters of the Eldrich river.

      The water was so cold it practically burned the warrior’s skin as they were sucked under the waves, and swept along the current. Fighting hard against the water, the eventually managed to surface long enough from time to time to grab a gulp of air. Exhausted from battle, the warrior hardly possessed the energy to continue their struggle against nature.

      Somehow, they persisted.

      After the sky over head turned black as pitch, the waters of the Eldrich released the warrior, washing her up on shore alongside what seemed to be hundreds of dead bodies. Gasping and desperate for breath, the warrior pulled back their hood and the scarf wrapped around their mouth and nose.

      Long black hair tumbled loose around the warrior as she clawed her way over the corpses further inland.

      Can’t stop now. C’mon woman!   She mentally chastised herself.

      Her fingers had grown numb from cold, months fighting in northern Islyland had taught her one lesson—she hated cold. For the first time since leaving home years and years ago, she missed the sweet sweltering heat of her homeland. Cold might have dulled the stink but shivering as she was, she’d have settled for the piss, shit, musk and garlic scented air of Maradesh.

      One upside to the cold was she didn’t feel her wounds sustained during the battle and she knew she had a few. Eventually she managed to pull herself to standing. Though her extremities were still numb walking helped somewhat. Turning around she watched as other bodies washed up, the water was black in the moonlight but even in the cold she made out the distinct sweet copper scent of blood.

      Something moved in the dark, tilting her head to the side, she squinted as she peered at the most recent addition to the even growing pile of corpses. After watching them struggle for a bit she made her way back toward the shore and helped them over the bodies. For a time, no words were spoken as they retreated to the leaf strewn earth beyond the blood drenched sand.

      “We need to build a fire,” she spoke carefully watching the man’s face.

      “You’re foreign,” the wounded, limping soldier blurted out as he carefully watched the warrior. “And a woman.”

      “No.” She gapped sarcastically. “It doesn’t matter what I am. What we’ll both be if we don’t build a fire soon is dead.”

      “I meant no offense, only… it’s very rare to see a foreigner outside of Queen’s Vigil.”

      “And next you’re going to make some comment about me being a woman and a mercenary, yes?” Continuing her tirade, she started inspecting sticks and twigs on the ground. “I’ve heard them all you know. The questions. As though there’s something wrong with me because I’d rather wield a sword than raise someone’s babies. So let’s not an pretend we did okay?”

      “Of course, I’ll gather dry leaves.”

      “Good. The last thing I want is to lose fingers over this.”

      “Why are you fighting with the brotherhood?” He inquired as he made a small pile of dry leaves.

      “Why are you fighting with the whatever fancy fucking lord you’re fighting for?” She countered as she returned to the pile with an armful of twigs of varying sizes. She arranged them neatly and then returned to the bodies on the shore, retrieving a dagger from one of the corpses.

      “Duty. Honor.” The man shrugged and the woman scoffed.

      “So, you’re a lord.”

      He laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

      “Mhm. The only people who care about any of that shit are highborn.”

      “Have you known many highborn?”

      “Far too many.” She started searching the rocks along the shore line. To start the fire they’d need a good chunk of flint or some other hard stone.

      “Bad experiences?”

      She tossed a rock over her shoulder. “You could say that.” After picking a few pieces of hard dark stone she returned to the pile of twigs.

      “Not going to elaborate?”

      “Why should I?” She glanced up at the man before striking a sharp edge of one of the stones against the knife. After discarding three of the rocks as useless, the fourth one finally sparked and she slow blew on the little pile of twigs and leaves.

      “To distract yourself from the cold?”

      “My mother was and probably still is the Lady of Maradesh.”

      “And your father?”

      “A pirate.”

      “I take it he approves of your mercenary activities?”

      She laughed, the sound far too light and bubbling for the situation. “No.” The flames rose high and she started to feed twigs into it.  “He humored me of course. When I was a child, he took me to see his ship a few times. Never once did he tell me I couldn’t be captain like him, until I flowered of course. Once that happened he lost all interest in me. Before that he taught me how to hold a sword and fight. After I think he thought my mother would teach me to be a Lady.”

      “Did she?”

      She scrunched her nose and warmed her hands. “You ask a lot of questions you know.”

      “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

      She looked up at him and froze. It was the first time she saw him by any sort of light, the moon wasn’t anywhere near full so she could hardly make anything out before.  He was handsomer than she expected him to be. Both of them wore marks from the battle, and from their near drowning. However, he wasn’t as young as she initially thought. The inquisitive man’s face held lines that spoke of him being fast approaching his fortieth year at least. But he had kind eyes which stared at her with what almost appeared to be genuine interest.

      “She did, I went through all of it. I know how to curtsy, sing, dance, play the fucking harp and even how to run a household. Then my mother’s latest husband informed me I was to become one of Imir’s wives, a high honor for the bastard of a pirate. That night I left.” Stretching she moved a bit closer to the fire. “That’s not me. As odd as it might seem to you, I’m not strong enough to be a proper Lady.” She poked the fire and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I honestly don’t know how my mother does it, or any Lady for that matter. I suppose that’s why I’m here and not there.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “What about you, Mr. Knight? Are you a proper Lord? Did you go out to die today in service to your King?”

      He pursed his lips and watched her carefully.

      “My intentions weren’t to die, and I suppose I’m a proper Lord if there is such a thing.”

      “Are you an Islylander or Karriken? Your common all sounds the same to me.”

      “Islylander. Is that a problem?”

      “No.” She scoffed. “I’m a sell-sword. The battle ended for me with my prospects of getting paid. Chances are if I went back to the camp all my shit would be gone, too.”

      “What are you going to do now?”

      “I don’t know.” She sighed and wriggled her toes in her boots finally able to feel them again. “Loot the bodies in the morning and hope there’s enough gold on them for maybe a night at an inn. With luck, there’ll be a notice board and I’ll be able to save up enough in a month to buy a horse. Maybe I’ll head to Queen’s Vigil after that. You?”

      For a time, he stared at her and narrowed his eyes in thought.

      “I’ll probably head to Queen’s Vigil. If you need a job, I could always pay you to escort me.”

      She laughed and laid back for a moment in the leaves, allowing herself to take a second to enjoy the feel of the heat from the fire as it warmed the soles of her boots.

      “Have you ever traveled hard? And by hard, I mean starting out with nothing.”

      “No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

      “Something tells me most of those firsts for you passed a long time ago.”

      “Is that a joke about my age?” His deep throaty chuckle was infectious, and she found herself smiling at him despite herself.

      “Maybe.”

      “Granted I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’m still damn good with a sword.”

      “We’ll see, Grandfather.”

      “Grandfather? How old do you think I am?”

      She snickered and wriggled her way closer to the fire. “Did I touch a sore spot?” She teased cracking her back. “Since you’re hiring me I should let you know, my name’s Zahra, and I don’t come cheap. Also, if you try to touch me while I’m sleeping, I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

      “Pleasure to meet you, Zahra. I’m Rurik.”

      “Gods, you had those parents.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “They were the unimaginative kind who name their sons after Kings, Emperors, Sultans and Imirs.”

      “Something like that.” He laid down in the leaves beside the fire, after a short while he turned to gaze at Zahra as she settled in to try and sleep.

      “I meant it about touching me. I don’t care if you’re Lord Fancy pants Rurik of House wherever the fuck. Touch me and you’re a dead man.” She muttered without opening her eyes.

      “Have you had trouble on the road?”

      She cackled with her eyes closed. “Only every time I travel alone. Most see a small foreign woman and assume I’m easy to pick on. But there hasn’t been a time when it’s ended well for the whoreson who tried to touch me.”

     The scent of cooking meat woke Rurik, as did the faint odor of death. For a time he stared at the sky, squinting up at the gray sky.  Over the fire the skinned carcass of a rabbit roasted over a crude spit. His attention wandered to Zahra, as he assessed her quick, sure, motions and the focused expression on her face. At first her bronze skin appeared flawless, but the longer her stared the more minute imperfections made themselves known. She had a faint white scar by the crest of her cupids bow, and one that bisected her eyebrow, both were thin and old. Training accidents, he reasoned as he continued to take stock of her.

      He expected many things of her, but by the light of day he hadn’t expected to find her beautiful. It wasn’t that she was from Asachen. No, he’d seen plenty of beautiful traders’ wives and the wives of the representatives of the Imir before. In his many years, he’d come across female warriors before as well, usually women from Izthein, a small, savage, Island Kingdom. Most mutilated themselves to fight better, cutting off a breast to facilitate a better sword draw. As fierce as they were, he’d never met one he’d particularly call a beauty strength was prized above all else in their society.

      Zahra was different, though as different as she was with those large black doe eyes, ripe red mouth, swath of sable hair and smooth bronze skin, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had to be wrong with her to forsake the comfort of being a wife of the Imir to one of hard travel, fighting, and uncertainty.

      “Stop staring,” her voice was soft and the slight accent around the edge of the words took an edge off the annoyance.

      “I’m sure you’re used to it.” He sat up and pulled his mail hauberk off the ground.

      She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

      “Well, you’re a rarity. Where I come from, rare flowers like to be looked at.”

      “Do I look like a flower to you?” She lofted a dark brow and gave him a look of skepticism. One glance at her and he knew better than to give an honest answer to that question. Instead he sighed and looked at the bodies of the fallen. Next to Zahra sat a pile of valuable effects.

      “I take it you’ve picked the bodies clean?”

      “No, all this materialized overnight.” She stared at him with a blank expression but he couldn’t help but to smirk, after a moment he was granted with a playful smile. “I woke up a few hours ago and took anything of value. You’re welcome to rifle through them again if you want. Any clue where we are?” She took the rabbit off the spit and inspected it.

      Rurik glanced around. Thick trees covered everything as far as the eye could see. He stood and walked to the edge of the water, stepping over the bleeding bodies with their empty open eyes. There were no bridges, and hardly any discernable landmarks, the only spec of anything that could have been worth noting was the hard turn the river took.

      “We’re maybe south of the Eldrich Crook.”

      “Maybe?” She pulled the leg off the rabbit and held the stick out to him as he returned.

      “I’m afraid it’s the best we have at the moment.” He took the other back leg off and passed it back.

      She snorted. “Well I can certainly tell you’re a Lord now.”

      “I highly doubt if I dropped you out in the middle of nowhere in Asachen that you would be able to tell me exactly where you were just by the sand dunes.”

      “Sand dunes change daily, and Asachen is more than desert, there are forests as lush as this one, lakes, oasis’s full of beautiful flowers and crystal-clear ponds.”

      “And miles and miles of sand, but that’s beside the point.”

      “That it is. How attached are you to the hauberk?” She asked glancing him over.

      “Why?”

      “Because if we can find a trader to take all of this and your hauberk we’ll have enough for a horse, maybe two.”

      Nodding slowly, he took it off again and threw it on top of the pile of goods.

      “Wow, you must be rich, My Lord,” She snarked. “That’s fine armor, I wouldn’t have parted with it.”

      “I’ll make certain that when we part you have some of your own, and proper furs. You’ll freeze to death come high winter in that.” He nodded to the ragged much mended armor she wore. The garment hung off her to hide whatever was underneath, but the pants didn’t. The sight of her well rounded bottom as she stood and bent over to stretch, made him wish for a moment he was a far different man.

      “Well, I’m sure I’ll have enough to buy whatever I need after you pay me.” She turned and flashed him a smile before using one of the dead men’s helmets to pour dirt on the fire. The fact that she didn’t pour water on it made him smile to himself. All doubts he might have had about her capabilities the night before had more or less been snuffed out with the fire.

      “How are we going to carry all of that?” He asked nodding at the pile.

      “Couple of the idiots had their packs still on. What fool fights with their pack on?” She scoffed and started stuffing the pilfered treasures into a soggy bag.

      Her words brought his attention back to the bodies floating on shore in their sickly smelling reddish brown tainted water. He recognized a few of the sigils on the armor of the fallen, roses, stags, wolves, dragons, ravens, and fish. Most of them were on his side. For a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder if he even had a kingdom to return to.

      “Dead men.” Those two somber words from his lips caused her to raise those dark eyes to his.

      “Mm,” she uttered with pursed lips as she slung the overstuffed satchel over her shoulder.  On her small frame, the massive bag looked more than comical, but after that moment of introspection he couldn’t even manage a smile.

      They left the camp and walked for hours, the sun was low in the sky by the time they actually found a road. Rurik’s feet ached, but they never stopped for camp. The moon rose full and fat in the sky and they continued their journey by moonlight as the chill of the late autumn air caused their breath to come as white puffs.

      In all his years, Rurik had never traveled the roads in his Kingdom by foot before—if it was still his kingdom. Beside him she remained quiet, never complaining, and never saying a word. Those large luminous gems of jet focused ever forward on their task at hand. The only thing distracting him from his morose train of thought was her. He was still curious about her, but didn’t dare ask any more. The looser their affiliation the better for her. Out of every outcome of the trip possible, the best he could hope for would be for her to not find out he was King, and to move on like their paths had never crossed in the first place.

      “So, why are the kingdoms at war?” Zahra broke the silence, though she kept her voice quiet.

      “I…the King named his Nephew heir to the throne. A year ago, the King of Karriken died and his nephew took the throne and six months ago the sullen brat decided he didn’t want to wait to inherit Islyland.”

      “Doesn’t the King have an heir?”

      “No, rumor has it he and the Queen haven’t shared a marriage bed since their wedding night.”

      Zahra laughed, and the sound caught Rurik off guard. He paused in his steps and eyed her a moment before shaking his head and continuing on.

      “I feel sorry for the revolving door of whores that must come through his chamber, or virginal ladies, or boys or whatever he’s into.”

      “Why do you assume he’s into anything?”

      “Because he has this magical thing called a cock between his legs?”

      “Not every man is driven by their second head.”

      “Trust me, every man is.”

      “I think I’d know a little more on this subject than you would. Seeing as I have a cock and I am a man. Unless you’re hiding one between your legs, though I doubt you’d have space for one in those trousers.”

      “You’ve been staring at my ass.”

      “I’ve—”

      “Stare all you like, My Lord, but I’m not a whore and if you touch me—”

      “I know.”

      “Good as long as we have an understanding.” She stretched, wriggling her hips a little.

      “Do you need help with that.”

      “No, Grandfather, I’m quite fine.” She flashed him a smile followed by a snicker. He sighed, and they continued walking for an hour longer in the dark. “We’re probably an hour or two from a city.”

      “How can you be so sure?” He furrowed his brows as he stared at her skeptically.

      “I hear it.”

      “Horseshit.”

      She chortled. “You know I didn’t think fancy lords could curse.”

      “I’m the same as any other man, only Fortuna blessed me with her favor.” His words came out tainted and bitter, and it was his tone that brought Zahra’s attention to him for a moment.

      “Didn’t take you for a godly man.”

      “Everyone’s godly to some degree.”

      “No, no they are not.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      She shrugged. “Because I’m not.”

      “You’re telling me that when you were a tiny little girl living in your mother’s palace that you never prayed to your gods for your father’s safe return?”

      “Never. My father told me there were no gods other than the ones in my blood.” She scrunched her nose and sighed. “That’s a poor translation. He worshipped his ancestors as all from Meghrab do. And no, I didn’t pray to them as you would. I asked them to watch over him maybe a handful of times when I was very small but other than that…” She shrugged. “I’ve seen too much to believe in anything I can’t see or touch.”

      “What about Love? I’ve never met a girl who didn’t believe in love.” Even as he said those words he knew them to be an untruth. He had certainly known a girl who didn’t believe in love, his father forced him to marry her.

      “That’s a stupid question,” Zahra snapped rolling her eyes. “Though to answer your stupid question: no, I don’t. Love is something bards sing about and a word whispered by older men who should know better into the ears of young girls to get them to open their thighs.”

      “Touch a nerve?”

      “Nope. Just speaking the truth. But I will say that some women convince themselves that they genuinely experience it. And that’s great for them but it’s not real, and not for me.”

      “And lust?”

      She laughed. “You can touch lust.”

      “How?” As the word left his lips he regretted it, she darted forward faster than a flash and grabbed his crotch. He jumped back from her touch as she continued to snigger. “Point taken.” He shook his head. “But what about female lust?”

      “Well, now I feel bad for whoever you’ve taken to bed.”

      “And what pray tell do you mean by that?” He lofted a brow.

      “I mean, that if you’ve never felt a woman’s slickened nethers that you’re a terrible fuck, your lordship.” She beamed at him.

      He didn’t respond and instead shrugged off her words. They continued on for a while longer, and she never apologized for the slight. When the crude wooden city wall came into sight Rurik grumbled.

      “See, I heard people.”

      “Not even the gods could hear people that far off.”

      “Maybe I heard your so-called gods whispering in my ear.” She rolled her eyes. A second later she sighed and glanced up at the stars. “Shit.”

      “What?”

      “I had my heart set on a hot meal and a hot bath, we’ll be getting neither.”

      “Why?”

      “I doubt any shops are open. You really know nothing about life outside of castle.” She shook her head. “I’d say I pitied you, but the moment you return home you’ll get to bathe the stench of the road off you in a gilded tub and fuck some pretty painted perfumed whore, or your wife. Meanwhile I’ll probably be back on the road.”

      “Why is it always sex with you?”

      She huffed. “Because I haven’t had any in about a month.”

      “Oh, to be young again.”

      “Don’t act like you’ve ever gone more than a day without dipping your wick.”

      Again, Rurik refrained from answering and instead continued walking.

      Upon reaching the gates they discovered a sign printed with block script: THE VILLAGE OF ULRIC’S CROSSING IS CLOSED FROM DUSK TIL DAWN. Zahra dropped the pack with a loud thunk and peered at the notice. Rurik smiled to himself, he knew where they were now. The small town of Ulric’s Crossing was in the outer reaches of the Sudwyrd. Lord and Lady Halstaff ruled the fiefdom for him at Twyr Eldreth a fortnight’s ride away. He rubbed the signet ring on his finger.

      “Fuck!” Zahra hissed with a groan, breaking Rurik’s train of thought, as she turned to face him the fatigue on her face read plain as the words on the parchment. Slumping back against the gate, she stared at Rurik. “Right about now, I’d probably pray to the gods if I believed in them.”

      “It’s only a few hours ‘til dawn.”

      She slid down the door and sat on the ground.

      “That’s not so bad, everyone knows that hours just fly right by when you have absolutely nothing to do other than stare off into space.”

      “We could spar?”

      “I guess we could… maybe we’d get lucky and the guards would come and arrest us.”

      “I doubt it, fighting won’t get you jailed in Islyland. However, once we get horses we’re a fortnight’s ride from a friend’s castle.”

      She nodded a little. “Well hopefully we can afford horses.”

      “Even if we can afford them, they might not have any to sell. Ulric’s Crossing is fairly small, really it’s more of a glorified trading post than much else.”

      “Why is it called Ulric’s Crossing?”

      “Supposedly, the bridge was built and the town founded because long ago at the beginning of things a Sorcerer King from the Greenrealms froze this part of the Eldrich to cross into Sudwyrd with his army, so he could free his lover and twin from the clutches of whatever King ruled over Sudwyrd at the time.”

      “Didn’t pay attention much in Fancy Lad school, did you?” She smirked. “Or was it just so long ago you forgot?”

      He leaned toward her a bit. “Why can’t it be a bit of both?”

      She tilted her head from side to side, “I suppose you have a point.”

      “Where did you cross?”

      “What?”

      “When you can through with whatever Sell-Sword Company you fought with.”

      “Oh, it’s The Bloodied Bastards by the way and not The Brotherhood, or rather was.”

      “Not going back?”

      “Nope. I wasn’t going to get promoted, they made that clear before the last battle. Said no matter how well I proved myself they wouldn’t take orders from a foreigner, let alone a woman. You northerners certainly are a charming lot.”

      “Don’t judge us all by a few assholes. If I did that I’d think you nothing more than a submissive little girl longing for a husband.”

      “I’m tempted to leave you for that. You wouldn’t last a day without me.”

      “You won’t, because then you wouldn’t get your money. I think I’ve finally gotten a feel for you.” He smiled a little, so far she’d made a good impression on him. He’d always appreciated straight forward people, which made the Court at Queen’s Vigil hard to tolerate on the best of days. “And I’d rather think someone like you unique as opposed to there being hundreds of thousands of others like you.”

      “But there are, and the same goes for you.” Zahra reached into the satchel and produced a sheathed sword. “You might want this.” She tossed the blade to Rurik, he caught it and stared at the meager unadorned scabbard for a handful of moments. The simple braided leather brought a smirk to his lips, the steel itself was marginal, and that was begin generous.

      “And what about you?”

      She turned and moved some of her long dark hair out of the way, at her back were two sheathed blades.

      “They’re shorter than I’m used to but they’ll do. With luck they won’t shatter, but I half expect them to.”

      “You should probably pull your hair back.”

      “Thanks for the tip, Grandfather.” She teased rolling her eyes. “I will if I hear anything out of the ordinary, right now it’s like having a semi-damp blanket and I’ll take any extra bit of warmth I ca—” a shrill cry cut Zahra off.

      “St—”

      “Shh!” She hissed, dark eyes honing to a thin slivers as she held a finger up to ripe lips. Rurik, couldn’t hear whatever she was listening to. Oh, the wail of the woman he caught, but he was clueless to whatever else had snagged Zahra’s attention. She stretched and swept her hair back into a bun and pulled up the hood of her tunic.

      “What are you doing?”

      “I’ll be back.”

      “So, you just expect me to sit here?”

      “Mhm.” Zahra wrapped the black scarf around the lower half of her face. Staring up at the wall she nodded a little. “There are no guards on the wall, there are no torches lit. I’m guessing there’s a small bandit group inside.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “The noise, or rather the lack of it tells me everything I need to know. It’s late but not late enough for it to be as quiet as it is. I’ve travelled thousands of leagues in the last ten years, trust me.”

      “Alright.”

      “I’ll unlock the gate and let you in.”

      “Let me help you.”

      She laughed and shook her head as she took a few measured steps back. “We crossed at Red Bridge.” Those were her parting words before she sprinted forward and with a leap ran up the wall, caught her foot on a knot and used it as leverage for a second little jump, which put her far enough up to pull herself over.

       All Rurik could do was stare amazed. He’d never seen anyone move that way before, he’d heard stories all his life about such things of course. Supposedly there were thieves expertly skilled at their craft who moved like shadows and mountain cats, but he’d never believed any of those rumors until he saw it with his own eyes.

      With a sigh, he looked back down at the satchel leaning against one of the gate posts.

      If only I were fifteen years younger, he mused, entertaining the idea of knowing Zahra in all ways a man could know a woman. She was the type of woman who he could have seen himself defying his father for in his youth. Someone who he could have beside him in all ways and always, not merely a consort to warm his throne but someone who he could ride into battle with and fight side by side with. Reality sunk in further then, such a partnership would never work for a King or Lord.

      The door opened and Zahra emerged holding up a singular finger indicating to stay silent. Rurik drew the sword but left the scabbard and pile of goods outside. Once he stepped into the city the first thing that greeted him was the town square. Bodies swayed in the slight breeze from the gallows and heads decorated on pikes driven into the ground around it. Blood dripped slow and cold on to the earth.

      One glance at the heads was all it took for Rurik to realize these weren’t the heads and bodies the convicted—at least not by his laws. The farther they wandered into town the stronger the scent of blood grew. The puddles on the ground he’d mistaken for rainwater when they entered turned out to be blood as they passed. In all his years and all his battles he’d only seen something like it once.

      Early in his reign he had to put down an uprising. The execution of the ring leaders took from dawn until well past midnight and he presided over it all. He remembered how the blood ran in a small river down the hillside afterwards and turned Executioner’s Hill in Queen’s Vigil into a swamp—not unlike the town square.

      It was late enough that fires burned low and the town was almost completely dark. The gate which led to the bridge was shut and the torches beside it didn’t even smolder. There wasn’t a doubt in Rurik’s mind that whoever took the town had been there for a few weeks minimum, probably following in the wake of the army. War was good for trailing chaos across a Kingdom and in the chaos bandits tended to have the run of boarder lands.

      Rurik followed Zahra into what was probably once an Inn. The place reeked of vomit, piss, shit, blood, and the stench of death. The wooden planks had heavy dark stains on them, and when the two passed over those spots they found the floor spongy with the semi-fresh wetness. The hearth didn’t even smolder the coals long since gone out and no one had bothered to relight them.

      The first bandit they encountered was behind the bar, sleeping in a rough pallet in the corner, where a small dog or cat probably once did, tuffs of fur still clung to it here and there. In one smooth motion, Zahra approached the man and slit his throat. Blood warm enough to steam in the cold sprayed across her pretty face as the man clutched at the wound and she delivered another precise slice to his heart.

      “Was that necessary? We could have found out how many others they have,” Rurik whispered.

      “Your naivete would be cute it wasn’t so sad.” Without sheathing her blade she rummaged through the bandit’s pockets taking his gold and trading her dagger for his.

      “It’s not naivete to want to know what you’re up against. There could be anywhere from five to fifty.”

      She snorted.

      “It’s not fifty.”

      “How can be you so sure? Would you happen to be an expert in bandits?”

      “Nope, but I trust my ears.” She sheathed the new dagger and proceeded to stuff the corpse into a cupboard under the bar. Once she finished she wiped her face and walked into the kitchen, leaving Rurik to stare at the recently shut cabinet. After a few moments, he heard the familiar ring of steel against steel and darted into the back, discovering Zahra fighting a thin man with a thick ugly pink scar bisecting his pale dirty face.

      Her precise movements were mesmerizing. She pirouetted, dodged, parried, and riposted almost as well as he did, the only difference being she was so much faster. The short sword and dagger she fought with were practically a blur—until he kicked her in the chest and she fell backwards. The man opened his mouth to scream and instantly Zahra threw her dagger. The blade sunk into his throat, before Rurik could reach him the man pulled it free. Blood coated Rurik as it fountained from the wound, with a step forward Rurik swung the sword in an upward arc, slicing into the already wounded neck. The blade shuddered as it cut through the man’s neck but the result was the same. The bandit’s head rolled around the floor with a dull thud and a few irregular thumps before coming to stop.

      Rurik wiped the blood from the now notched sword on his trousers as Zahra continued to cough on the floor.

      “Are you going to be okay?” He asked softly, kneeling beside the black clad woman. He reached to touch her shoulder and she batted his hand away.

      Should have seen that coming.

      “I’m fine.” Her breaths came slow and she stayed seated for a while before slowly raising to stand.

      “Are you sure? A kick like that can break ribs.”

      “Yes.” She stood and retrieved her blade from the floor. “There’s food.” She commented idly before walking back into the larder, leaving him to sigh heavily.

      “Is there something wrong with me being concerned about you?” He asked keeping his voice low as he made his way to the larder wiping the blood from his eyes. Surprisingly it hadn’t been cleared out, nor was all of it rotten. Zahra set to gathering rolls, hunks of cheese, and dried meats, seemingly oblivious to the dead body in the corner.

      “Yuh-huh, if I had a cock you wouldn’t have fussed over me like that.” She inspected an apple.

      “That’s n—”

      With a single look over her shoulder, she silenced him. For a while they were quiet as Zahra bundled about a good three days’ worth of food up in the cheese cloth. Then, above them came a sob, followed by a death gurgle and the sound of footsteps.

      “They’s not no fun anymore,” a gruff voice lamented, muted by the thin walls and rooms between them.

      “Harry says we’s movin’ on soon.”

      “Harry’s been sayin’ that shit since the night after we got ‘ere.”

      “Almost out ‘o ale.”

      “True.”

      “Chances are we’ll put this shit hole to the torch and head out tomorrow.”

      “Still can’t believe what ten o’ us were able to do.”

      Beside Rurik, Zahra started counting on her fingers. He too did the math, with ten of them and two of them dead and two in there that meant there could only be six more. With some sleep six wouldn’t be much of a problem.  Clearly Zahra shared his thought, and darted out into the common room, with him close behind.

      They set on the two and in no time at all added two more bodies to the floor. With a groan Zahra sagged against the railing of the stairs and peered down at Rurik who rifled through the body, taking the small gold pouch and taking the man’s sword. Without any prompting, he hoisted the corpse over his shoulder with a grunt and walked over to the cabinet under the bar adding another body to it.

      Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Rurik looked up and found Zahra pulling the body up the steps, the corpse’s head hit every stair on the way up. However, her grunts and groans suggested a much different scene in the back of Rurik head. He allowed himself to entertain the thought of her astride him and the slight noises of pleasured frustration she’d make as she worked herself into wanton abandon. Swallowing he stepped from behind the bar and slipped the new sword into the sheath at his belt.

      Rurik followed her up the stairs, and watched her strip the baldric from the corpse before stuffing it under the bed. On the floor laid the corpse of a woman with eyes open and unblinking. Her face was bruised as was most of her exposed skin. In the corner were saddle bags that Zahra up ended as Rurik milled about, pretending to look at other things as he watched her sort through the contents of the bags.

      “Exceptional craftsmanship,” she exclaimed pulling out a clean chemise, and a cloak with a thin fur lining. Shoving it back into the saddle bags she tossed them over her shoulder with the baldric and started for the door.

      “Not going to loot the other rooms.”

      “Maybe before we leave.”

      He followed her as she walked down to the kitchen and stuffed the bundle of food into the saddle bags. Dawn was cresting when they left the back of the Inn and headed down the backstreets.

      Eventually they came to a small, worn cottage tucked away down a small alley. The roof seemed sound enough, as did the old plaster and wood walls but the windows were all boarded up, and the shutters half rotten. Zahra took out a dagger and popped one of the boards off. After tossing the saddle bags in she jumped a little and perched on the edge of the window, peering into the home while Rurik looked down the alleyway.

      “Can you pull yourself in?” She asked after lowering herself into the home. “Or are your joints plaguing you, Grandfather.” Her voice reached him as little more than soft sultry whisper. A small smirk tugged his lips at her playful jibe, though he didn’t answer her as he pulled himself into the window. He did groan a bit as he settled himself down, winning a glance and a smile from Zahra. Right away she grabbed a scrap piece of a broken bookcase and used it to hold the board in place she pried from the window.

      The house was small, in fact it was the smallest place Rurik had ever been in. Dust coated each and every surface, the small table, the bookshelves, and even the hearth had a healthy coating of fine gray. To him however it seemed impossible that any single person could live in such a tiny space. The broken earthenware plates and mugs on the floor told a different story, a family lived there once. He followed Zahra up the stairs and into the second story which was a single room with a bed covered in a rotting straw mattress and moldy moth-eaten furs.

      “We can’t light a fire, they’d see the smoke.” Zahra stripped off her leather armor, dropping the heavy tunic at her feet before pulling off the chemise she wore beneath it.

      Rurik’s eyes devoured her, savoring the tightness of her battle-hardened body. Her waist pinched in almost drastically which highlight the full swell of her large heavy breasts topped with dusky almost mahogany colored nipples that puckered in the cold. Words failed him as he watched her retrieve the shirt from the saddle bags and slipped it over her head, the fabric veiling her generous assets. Coincidentally, around the time Zahra found herself clothed Rurik regained the ability to speak.

      “So, we’re going to freeze then?”

      “No, we’re going to sleep close.”

      Rurik cleared his throat and Zahra laughed as she sashayed her way over the to the bed.

      “Don’t worry, Grandfather. It won’t be the first time I’ve woken up with some strange man’s cock pressing against the small of my back, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” Her accent was pure honey to Rurik’s ears.

      Taking Zahra’s lead, he took off his own leather hauberk and the belt that held the scabbard for his sword before climbing into the bed beside her. Both slipped under the musty furs, despite the warmth they offered the smell was almost unbearable to the King—and he’d walked battlefields in the height of summer before the bodies were buried. The stench burned his nose, but still he laid down beside her, enjoying her warmth and the scent of her that lingered under the dirt, blood, and sweat from the road.

      “Is the King as handsome as they say?”

      “Didn’t you see him on the battlefield?”

      “I glimpsed him, but he had that lion helm on so all I really saw was the crown.” She shrugged. “They say he’s one of the most handsome men in the world, that he looks like a prince from a fairy story and the years have been very kind to him.”

      Rurik suppressed a laugh.

      “And where did you hear this?”

      “There was a sell-sword in the Bloodied Bastards, he was a lover of men and went on about what a pity it was that we’d have to take the King’s head from his long neck and broad shoulders.”

      “I don’t have much of an opinion about the King’s looks, but I assume he’s handsome enough. Though he’s my age so I’d assume he’d be a bit old for you.”

      “Nah, he’s a King. It’d be a tale to tell if nothing else. After all, men always talk about fucking the most beautiful woman in the world. The next man I hear talking about the perfect tits of Koneko, I swear to fuck I will rip off their balls barehanded.”

      “Who?”

      “Some concubine from Luzun who currently holds the most beautiful woman in the world title if the rumors of sell-swords can be believed. Then again, they say your King is a sight to see but I somehow doubt that. Not because of his age, but… experience has told me that princes, kings, queens, princesses, lords, and ladies are rarely as beautiful as rumor says. We all want them to be, but they almost never are. I’ve yet to meet one and not be disappointed.”

      “Are you including yourself in that assessment?”

      “I’m not a Lady, my mother was and people always described her as more beautiful than she was. But anyways, I’d do him because being able to say I spent the night with a King would be something, even if he was wizened shriveled little thing.”

      “Isn’t an Imir like a King.”

      “Yeah, but I could leave the King come morning and go on my merry sword-selling way. As opposed to being locked in a Harem with thirty other women wondering when I’d be taken out to be an ornamentation or fuck some man damn near your age and almost as ugly.”

      “I’d almost be hurt if I thought you were being anywhere near serious.”

      “Hurt? Do you want me to think you’re pretty?” She turned to face him, they were inches apart and he had to fight to keep his eyes from her plump lips. She caressed his face, stroking slim calloused fingers down his cheek and over the stubble along his jaw. He fought himself not to lean into her touch. How long had it been since someone had touched him in such a way? “You must have been quite the sight in your prime. Women probably threw themselves at you, whores probably refused your gold.”

      “And now?” Rurik swallowed, as Zahra continued her assessment of him, those bronze digits trailing down his neck making things in his body stir.

      “Now…you’re pretty enough. Not what you used to be, no. But any woman who shoves you out of bed is a fool.” She bit her bottom lip and Rurik reached to place his hand at her hip but stopped himself.

      “I have a wife.” Those words felt like daggers as they left his lips.

      Zahra rolled her eyes and turned back over.

      “Ah yes, some wonderful Lady waiting for you at your keep no doubt. Probably nothing but milk and honey and sweetness.”

      More along the lines of the complete opposite.

      “Something like that.” He sighed.

      “No matter, Grandfather. I’ll let you return to your Lady with your honor unbesmirched.” She scooted away from him, leaving almost a whole foot between them. He almost wanted to tell her the truth about his wife, even if just in deed only; that the match was loveless and he’d not shared her bed in two decades more or less. He didn’t. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on trying to fall asleep. Eventually, as the sun shafts grew to their brightest intensity a dreamless sleep overcame him.